


In The beginning

by ZorroRojo



Series: Vignettes [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorroRojo/pseuds/ZorroRojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a new AU. It doesn't have a name yet. This is the set up story. This story is gen Co-written with Robin Serrano</p><p>Written in 2003/2004 or so</p><p>This  is the setup for an open AU we worked on back in the day.  It's a retelling of the pilot, set in the modern day.  It is a stand alone complete story.</p><p>There is some offensive language in this story but it's not gratuitous and it's appropriate to the character who uses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The beginning

*****

In the beginning: December 2002

 

Chris Larabee slipped into town unnoticed, as was his way these days. He lived and breathed, ate and slept, traveled and searched for one thing and one thing only: to find the men responsible for killing his family. When he stopped to think about it, which he rarely did, he marveled that almost three years could pass with him hardly noticing. 

Chris picked a likely place to hear the news around town without being noticed himself. He’d followed a lead to Whitewater, New Mexico, not far from where he’d buried his wife and son. He wasn’t from the area but Sarah was. He didn’t want to think about their burned out vacation home, her childhood home, firebombed with his wife and son inside. He didn’t want to think about anything but finding the men who’d done it, but coming back to the scene of the crime had him on edge, ready to fight.

The sun shone high in the sky, bright even though it was the first week of December. The air was crisp and chilly though, and as Chris fastened his long, black leather duster around his throat, he was glad he had the foresight to pack it for this trip. It wasn’t often he thought about anything more than a day ahead.

The place he’d set his sights on wasn’t the type of bar most people in town for the balloon festival up in Red Rock would visit. Definitely seedy, with rows of motorcycles lined up outside. In his days as a cop, it was the type of place he wouldn’t go in without backup. These days, he did everything alone. It was how he wanted it to be so that’s the way it was. He took a spot at the old-style bar and ordered a drink, watching the rowdy crowd through the mirror above the bar. 

He’d gotten word from an unexpected source that he might find a lead down in Whitewater. He didn’t give it much credence, but he was so desperate for a lead, any lead, that he spent almost all of his time traveling from place to place, looking for a single thread that would allow him to find the killers of his family.

He’d watch and listen, trying to find that elusive link. Three years he’d spent looking; three wasted years. He still wasn’t sure if it was a band of outlaws, maybe bikers like the ones surrounding him right now, or if it was people he’d crossed as the head of Denver’s SWAT team. Accident of fate or act of revenge, it didn’t matter. They were still dead and he was still alone, a shell of the man he was, determined to spend the rest of his days getting his revenge. No longer a member of law enforcement, he didn’t even try to lie to himself; he was after revenge, not justice. 

A fight broke out somewhere behind him, but he ignored the shouts and whoops, the flying tables and chairs. He lifted his glass to his mouth for a drink, but a ball from the pool table flew through the air and shattered his glass in his hand. Now he was pissed. All he wanted was a drink and to get the lay of the land, and the assholes surrounding him had to act like the fucked up crank heads they were.

He watched the bartender duck behind the bar and come back up with a baseball bat and Chris considered pulling his gun. He carried a gun with him everywhere he went. Some cases legally, some not so legally. In New Mexico, he was licensed to carry a concealed handgun and he wore it now. But this stupid dust-up in a biker bar wasn’t worth his trouble-- or any effort on his part. If the idiots wanted to kill each other all in the name of fun, that was fine with him.

He watched them spill onto the street and raised an eyebrow at the bartender. While the town was practically deserted, there were people here and there, mostly tourists stopping on the way to the balloon festival. He’d notice an old country store right across the street, including a large stand of gas pumps. His instincts kicked in again and he followed the fight out into the street.

As he feared, there were customers at the gas station. He glanced to his right, noticing an old-timer, sitting in a chair on the wide porch that wrapped around the bar.

“Town always this rowdy?” he asked.

“Nope. Bikers from Texas. Rode in yesterday.”

“Where’s the law?” Chris asked, unable to keep from getting involved.

“None, hereabouts. Got a highway patrol station up the state highway, but town’s too small for police. Sheriff don’t even have a patrol stationed here full time.”

That wasn’t good, Chris knew. Nearest law would take some time to get to town and the bikers knew it. That was easy to figure out by the way they acted like they owned the place.

Another commotion caught his attention. More bikers, coming down the street, revving their engines. Things were about to get complicated, but it wasn’t his problem. Not any more. He had enough problems of his own, thank you very much.

He paid attention though. His informant told him to look for members of the Bandidos and the new arrivals were definitely members of the Texas gang. He knew a little about them, but not enough. He had no idea why they might kill his family, but the why wasn’t important for now, only the who.

He paid closer attention when he caught sight of a man struggling between two of the bikers. His hands were tied and so were his feet. They dragged him between them, toward the group who’d just spilled out of the bar Chris was in. 

“Look what we found!” one of them yelled as he pushed the struggling black man into the street.

“You go all the way to Albuquerque to get him?” a big, greasy looking man yelled back as the fight stopped. 

Chris considered pulling his gun again, but he was outnumbered at least fifteen to one. Wouldn’t do any good to get himself and the stranger killed. He hoped like hell one of the tourists at the gas station called 911. 

He glanced over that way, taking his eyes off the gang and their prisoner for a half second. What he saw had him doing a double-take. Some fool kid, working at the gas station, apron tied around his waist, stood there-- out in the open watching. Fucking idiot, Chris felt himself sneering. Kid probably watched so much TV, he thought he was safe in the middle of a dust-up like this one. He fought the urge to tell him to get his stupid, skinny, long-haired, pretty-boy ass back inside and call the fucking cops instead of standing there like he was watching a movie.

Chris again considered taking charge but he was still outnumbered. Fuck.

“That the nigger who killed JoeBob?” the one that started the fight in the bar asked and Chris knew things were about to take a turn for the worse.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” the black man yelled as he stumbled and fell to his knees. “Your friend bled out before we even got to him.”

Chris had no idea what he stumbled into, but he had an idea of what was about to happen. He was about to draw his gun, outnumbered or not, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Pretty-boy across the street stepped out of the store, alone and carrying a rifle. Gone was the apron. Chris met his eye and knew the instant he made eye contact he was wrong about this guy. He was no kid, and he was no civilian. Chris recognized the predator in him and he recognized the same in Chris. Military, Chris would bet, special forces, he might even stake his former reputation on it. Chris kept eye-contact with him, both of them assessing the other until by strange, mutual agreement, they each gave a brief nod and began moving.

They met in the middle of the street, both glancing at each other, while watching the gang members drag the other man away. They wrapped a rope around his neck and the leader of the bikers looped the other end of the rope around his bike. The gang didn’t pay the two of them any attention until they were about ten yards away. 

The one that started the bar fight noticed them first. “What the hell do you want?”

Chris pushed his coat aside, showing the gun he wore in his shoulder holster. “Cut him loose,” he ordered.

The store clerk added, “Reckon you’d all be happier if you just got on yer hogs and rode away.”

“Not a chance.”

Chris eyeballed the lead outlaw while trying to cover their backs. They weren’t surrounded, yet, but things would go downhill quick if any of them managed to get behind him.

A high-pitched whine pierced the air and a motorcycle, a rice-burner, not a hog, raced down the street, right at the group of men in the stand-off.

All hell broke loose then, gunshots, automatic weapons, rifle reports, Chris’ own sig-sauer. It went on longer than Chris would have liked and he shot to kill, like he’d been trained in the military. His ally did the same, he noted as a rifle shot took down the one trying to drag the black man to his death.

It ended as the gang regrouped and retreated to their bikes, leaving their dead and wounded to fend for themselves. The pump-jockey rushed over to the man on the ground, who still struggled with the rope around his neck, and cut him free.

“Name’s Chris,” Chris said as he finished checking the dead bikers scattered around the shot-up street.

“Vin,” the stranger said. 

They locked eyes again, assessing each other and Chris liked what he saw. Wasn’t often he met a man like this one. He hadn’t seen shooting that accurate under fire since he’d left the SEALS. He knew he was right about this guy being military; he had experience in firefights, no doubt about it. Chris studied him some more while he helped the man on the ground. 

Chris got caught staring when Vin looked up, but he didn’t look away. No reason to. Vin nodded behind him and Chris broke their eye-contact to turn around. Not ten feet behind him, the rice-burner that escalated the stand-off to an old-time shootout lay on its side, its rider staggering to his feet.

Chris gave the guy a hand up, ready to knock his head off for pulling such a stupid, dangerous stunt. Fucking amateurs, thinking life was like a stupid action movie. He waited for the guy to pull his helmet off and when he did, Chris ground his teeth together and balled his hands into fists just to keep from punching the kid in the face for his moronic behavior. This one was a kid. A baby-faced kid. Face flushed with excitement, he started jabbering.

“We get them? Man, that was intense. Anyone call the locals yet?”

Locals? No way this baby-faced kid was law enforcement. Chris fixed him with a hard stare and waited for him to stop bouncing from the adrenaline running through him like a livewire. 

Chris didn‘t hide his contempt for the kid‘s recklessness. “You use that head for anything beside holding that helmet? Go sit your ass over there,” Chris pointed to the bar’s porch, “until either the staties or the locals get here.”

“Who’re you?” the kid asked as he unzipped his garishly colored leather coat. 

Chris didn’t answer him, turned back to Vin and the man who almost got dragged and strangled. 

“He all right?” Chris asked.

“Nathan Jackson,” the man said as he staggered to his feet.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Vin asked him.

Nathan looked from Vin to Chris and back again. “They dragged me from my campsite outside of town. My wife and her family are still there. I need to get back there before the gang does.”

“What do they want with you?” Chris asked, trying to ignore the pleading in the man’s eyes.

“I’m a paramedic up in Albuquerque. One of their members got shot up in a drive by and they blame me and my partner for him dying even though there was nothing’ we coulda’ done. My partner got killed in a car accident last month. No witnesses, but the cops warned me to be careful. I need to get back there, now!”

Chris met Vin’s eyes again, trying to decide what to do. Vin looked like he was ready to jump in head first, but Chris wasn’t a cop anymore. Hadn’t been one in three years and he’d never been one in New Mexico. Dammit! He wasn’t any kind of Good Samaritan or any kind of vigilante -- well not when it came to anyone but his family’s killers.

“I called it in,” the kid Chris ordered to park his ass said as he flipped his phone shut. 

“I told you to stay out of the way,” Chris snarled at him. He didn’t have time for some fucking hick deputy who thought he was in the middle of a movie.

“Agent John Dunne, FBI,” the kid said, holding up a badge.

Vin appeared next to his elbow and glanced at him before looking at the kid. “Feds must be desperate these days.” He looked back to Chris, then to Nathan who looked a little steadier on his feet. “We don’t got time for this. If the Bandidos are after the Doc’s family, we got to go. By the time the law gets involved, they’ll be dead.”

Chris took a second to study him. Vin, whoever he was, was rock solid. A good man to have in a fight, Chris knew right off. They could stand around there waiting for the cops or they could do something in time to stop a slaughter. It didn’t take Chris long to make up his mind. 

Chris glanced from Vin to Nathan, who looked like he was ready to run off without any backup or even a weapon. “We‘ll need more men. I know someone who might be close by. You know anyone we can get fast?“

A funny look crossed Vin’s face, but it passed too fast for Chris to put a name to it. Vin shook his head and Chris nodded to him, letting him know it was all right. With Nathan, himself, and maybe Buck, they had enough manpower-- he hoped.

“I don’t have a vehicle,” Jackson said, still looking like he was ready to take off.

“I’ve got my truck,” Chris said.

“I got my bike out back,” Vin added.

Chris gave them each one more assessing look before making up his mind. “Let’s ride.”

He started for his truck with Nathan right on his heels as Vin headed behind the gas station to get his bike. 

“Wait!” the annoying kid called out and Chris almost didn’t stop. He threw his keys to Nathan and pointed at his truck before turning around to put a stop to whatever the boy FBI agent wanted. 

“You’re staying,” Chris ordered.

The kid visibly gulped and Chris didn’t back down. He didn’t need an inexperienced adrenaline junky getting involved. Was the quickest way of getting them all killed. Odds weren’t in their favor to begin with.

“I’m the only one with any authority,” the kid stammered.

Chris gave him his best, ‘do you think I give a shit’ look, then turned his back on him. “Wait for the locals,” he called out over his shoulder, not bothering to check that the kid listened. 

He climbed up into his already running truck and nodded to Nathan behind the wheel. He checked his mirror and saw Vin on his bike, then gave Nathan another nod.

On the highway in a matter of seconds, Chris grabbed his phone from its holder and hit number six on the speed-dial. He hoped like hell Buck hadn’t changed his number. 

Buck Wilmington, now there was a man he hadn’t seen in almost two years. Thought of, but hadn’t seen or spoken to. Chris hadn’t reprogrammed his phone, but he hadn’t called him in so long, he wondered if Buck would even take his call. 

He’d known Buck since they started SEAL training together. Nothing could ever make two men closer than making it through that training, then serving together for six years. While others came and went, transferred or served their time, Chris and Buck spent six years on the same team. Six years of fun, danger, a sense of purpose and the arrogance of being young and strong and of knowing they were the best in the world at what they did. 

The first year out, they stayed in touch, but not every day. Chris met his wife and Buck wandered and played. When Chris invited Buck to be his best man, Buck came to Denver and stayed for good. Joined up with SWAT when Chris headed the unit and they spent another four years together. Godfather to his son, friend to his wife, most important person in his life aside from his family. Buck was there for it all, including the worst moment of his life. He and Buck were down in Mexico, running joint training sessions with the federales when he got the word. Sarah and Adam, staying at their place in New Mexico, were dead at the hands of an arsonist.

Buck held Chris together from the force of his own will alone until they got there. Then nothing in the world could hold Chris together. Buck stuck around another six months, until it was clear all he was sticking around for was to see Chris to his grave. Chris took a leave and Buck took a new job. Head of Albuquerque SWAT. Chris would be happy for him if he had it in him to feel anything but hate. He even hated Buck some back then. After all they’d been through, after all they’d done together, he walked out on Buck like he didn’t matter. At that time, he didn’t matter. Nothing did. Chris still wasn’t sure that had changed.

When he first got the tip to come down to Whitewater, he thought about Buck. Thought about how Buck always went to the balloon festival in Red Rock the first week of December. Thought long and hard about looking him up. Almost stopped in Red Rock on his way down, but changed him mind as he was headed off the highway. Almost wrecked his truck, swerving back onto the highway at the last minute. But seeing Buck at the balloon festival would have sent him into a tailspin. Seeing the balloons sailing through the air in the blue sky and seeing Buck lit up with excitement only would have made him think about how much fun Adam had sitting on Uncle Buck’s shoulders, or thinking about the romantic lunch Buck arranged for him and Sarah the time they all went to the balloon festival together. Something Chris probably wouldn’t have thought of without Buck’s input. 

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and hit send on his phone. Caught Nathan giving him a questioning look, but he turned to look out the window instead. One ring. Two rings. Three. He almost hung up, but decided to wait for a machine to be sure. Buck was probably out having fun. Another reason to stop being around Buck. No one had the right to have fun after what happened. And even if they did, Chris didn’t want to be around it. Moving on with life wasn’t an option. Period. 

“Chris?” Buck’s voice rang through loud and clear, if a little hesitant, maybe even hopeful. He hadn’t forgotten Chris’ number, obviously. 

“Buck.”

A short pause, silence over the line, then Buck going on like it hadn’t been two years since they’d talked. “Hey, you old war dog, what’s up?”

Chris took a breath, knew Buck would be up for a little adventure… maybe. “Got a little trouble outside Red Rock. You in town?”

“Sure am,” Buck said after another second of silence. A high pitched giggle in the background and Buck’s ‘shush, darling,’ let Chris know exactly what Buck was up to. 

“Can you get down to,” Chris looked to Nathan for a location.

“Skeet’s Wash,” Nathan said. “Gotta take a dirt road off 602 to get back there. It’s rough going.”

“You hear that?” Chris asked and thought about things for a second after Buck answered him affirmatively. “You still have your truck?” 

“Yup,” Buck said and Chris could see his face in his mind. Serious, nodding, already getting dressed.

“All right,” Chris said. “Meet us on 602 at the turn-off. I’ll fill you in there.”

Buck agreed, then hung up and Chris dropped his phone back into its cradle. Good ‘ole Buck. Not even a ‘where you been’ or any kind of recrimination. Just a ‘see you there.’

He caught Nathan glancing at him, worried, nervous, and things moving too fast.

“Chris,” Nathan said as he put his eyes back on the road. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but thank you.”

“Thank me when your family is safe.” He checked the side mirror, saw Vin only a car length back and searched ahead for any sign of the gang. “Buck’s less than twenty miles away,” Chris said to Nathan.

“You a cop?” Nathan asked.

Chris shook his head, not volunteering anything further.

“Your friend a cop?”

“He’s from up your way. You might know him. Buck Wilmington.” Paramedics worked with cops a lot, but Buck wasn’t a beat cop.

“Tall, skinny, big mustache? Talks a lot?”

“That’s him,” Chris said. 

“I seen him around. Good man to have in a fight,” Nathan said, nodding his head. 

Chris studied Nathan Jackson while the miles flew past. Nathan wasn’t afraid, he could see that much. He moved with purpose and self-assurance. “You ever been in a gunfight?” Chris asked him.

“I was a medic in the airborne. Saw my share. Mostly Kosovo. I’ve been out about three years, been in Albuquerque about a year.”

Chris nodded. Good. They had a disciplined, trained group of men. He’d lay odds on a group like his over an untrained biker gang any time. 

But Nathan did look unsure all of a sudden. “I hate to waste any time, but I got a friend of mine camping about a mile in, about two miles before our turn-off. We might need an extra hand. At least a dozen of the Bandidos got away and there’s no telling how many more of them are in the area. I think they’ll regroup before goin’ to my camp.”

Chris figured the more guns they had, the better. He’d send Vin to meet up with Buck and to keep an eye on the road. Maybe they’d get lucky and the cops would show up before things even went much further. The important thing was getting Nathan’s family somewhere safe.

“Pull over at the turn off to your friend’s campsite. We’ll fill Vin in and go get him.”

Nathan nodded and focused on the road until he pointed out an unpaved turn-off. 

Chris wasted no time filling Vin in on the plan and Vin took off up the highway to go meet Buck. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the highway, Josiah Sanchez taking up the entire small backseat in his cab. That seat wasn’t made for man that size. A friend of Nathan’s from the city, Josiah had been leading a youth group on a camp-out. He’d been expecting Nathan and Nathan’s wife to drop in, not Nathan and Chris.

Chris watched in the mirror as Sanchez broke down the gun Chris let him borrow, then reassembled it. Another ex-military man, but a long time out, judging by his age. They had quite a lethal little force built up awfully quick.

“There’s the turn,” Nathan said abruptly. 

“And there’s Buck,” Chris answered. And Vin, he saw right away. What the hell were they doing.

The two of them held guns on each other, Vin sitting casually on his bike and Buck still sitting in his truck.

“He with you?” Buck asked.

“He with us?” Vin asked almost at the same time.

“Buck, Vin. Vin, Buck. Put down the damn guns and let’s do this,” Chris said, not wasting any more time on their nonsense. “Vin, can you get your bike into the back of my truck?” Chris asked as he stepped between them, not even waiting for them to lower their guns.

“Yeah, if ya give me a hand, we should manage.” 

“Good,” Chris said with a nod. “You’re with me.”

“Buck, you know Nathan, right?”

Buck nodded, going along with the plan with ease. Chris and Vin led the way in, Vin pointing out motorcycle tracks along the road. Less than a mile in, a woman stood frozen in the road. She stared at the truck, then ran off into a wash.

“Got it,” Chris said to Vin as he flipped open his phone and dialed. “Buck. We spotted a woman on the road, she took off into the wash right after the bend you’re about to turn.”

“They going after her?” Vin asked him. It was the first words he’d said since they’d turned off the main highway.

Chris glanced at him and gave a small nod. Vin sat against the door, rifle over his lap, staring out the window into the desert. His hair blew in the wind from the open window and the sun shone on his face. He kept a watch for any movement while Chris navigated the tricky road.

Less than a mile further on, they came across a ruined campsite and Chris threw his truck into park, then started scanning the countryside for any signs of Nathan’s family. There weren’t any people around, and that was the bad news and the good news.

“We gotta find ‘em and get out to the highway,” Vin said as he opened his door. “No telling when them bikers are gonna show up.”

Chris nodded. He wasn’t used to working with anyone anymore, but he found himself nodding to Vin liked they’d worked together for years.

Chris checked his ammunition before leaving the cab, losing sight of Vin only moments after he slinked off into the desert. It was like the man disappeared. Good skill to have at a time like this. Chris took his time picking over the campsite. He knew they’d get a fair amount of warning before anyone could sneak up on them. 

An overturned cooler, a barbeque pit ready to be lit, three tents, all ruined. Spent shells. Blood. No people and no bodies though. “Anyone here?” Chris called into the silence. “Nathan’s on his way. We’re here to help.” Chris felt foolish, yelling into the silent desert. He tried to spot Vin, but he couldn’t see him.

Off in the distance, he could hear a vehicle. It wasn’t a motorcycle and it sounded like Buck’s truck. Maybe the people would show themselves once they saw Nathan.

The truck bounced into the campsite and Buck slammed on the breaks. Nathan jumped out before the truck completely stopped, the woman he and Vin spotted following right after him.

She started calling right away, worried, but in control. 

“Vin’s looking for them,” Chris said to her, trying to catch her eye, trying to calm her. “How many people are here?”

She looked him in the eye then and it was a look Chris recognized. Loss. Grief. Worry. Anger.

“My father’s been shot.”

“We’ll find him, Raine,” Nathan said as he put his arm around her. “We’ll find all of them.”

Chris caught Buck’s eye over their shoulder and motioned for him to come closer.

“You got an idea?” Buck asked.

“Backtrack up the road. If you spot the gang heading this way, give a warning shot.”

Buck gave him a tight nod, then took off back the way they came. 

“Nathan?” Chris asked.

Nathan checked his watch before he answered. “Feels like it’s been forever since they rode in here, but it’s only been about an hour and a half. Raine sent the others to hide before she tried to get to the road.”

Josiah appeared next to Chris, waiting for word on what they should do. Chris didn’t know how he became the leader of this ragtag group, but instead of questioning it, he took charge.

“Josiah,” Chris said, “see if you can get up on that rise. You ought to have a good view from up there.”

Raine stepped out from under Nathan’s arm and looked Chris in the eye. “Thank you,” was all she said. 

He gave her a nod before indicating they should all start looking. Before they could split up though, Vin appeared out of an arroyo, an older man leaning on him and a group of women and children following. 

Nathan and Raine rushed to Vin and the group of people and Vin gently lowered the old man to the ground, moving out of the way as soon as Raine and Nathan got to him.

“What do we do now?” Vin asked as he stepped next to Chris.

“Get out to the road and wait for the law,” Chris said. 

“Could be awhile. The Bandidos aren’t going to go away,” Vin said matter of fact.

“I know.”

“Someone’s coming up the road,” Vin said and they split apart naturally, taking up positions to defend the little camp.

Buck’s truck bounded into the clearing and Buck hopped out, looking about as pissed as Buck ever got. A split-second later, the kid from the gas station jumped out the other side.

“Look what followed us,” Buck yelled. “You told the fool to stay put and wait for backup, but he got it into his head to play cowboy.”

“This isn’t a place for you, kid, go back to town and wait for the cops.”

“I called it in,” Dunne said, ignoring Chris’ order. 

Chris shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. If the idiot wanted to get himself killed, who was Chris to argue. “Your funeral,” he said before he turned around to face Vin again.

“Think we can get them all in the trucks?” Vin asked.

Chris took a quick look around, nodding toward the three vehicles parked a little way beyond the camp. It didn’t take Vin long to nod back, then head off toward the group gathered around the injured man.

“Buck, take the kid and go on ahead. We’ll be right behind you.”

Buck nodded to him and grabbed the kid by the arm, stifling his protests. It didn’t take long for Vin to round up the family and get them sorted into the vehicles. Once they were all loaded, he and Vin jumped into his truck and headed out, leading the little ragtag group.

Halfway back to the road, he started hearing the sharp reports of gunfire. He spun around a bend and spotted Buck’s truck. 

Vin jumped out the door before Chris even had the truck stopped. “I’m goin high,” Vin said before disappearing into the surrounding countryside.

Chris motioned for Josiah, driving the lead SUV behind him and Josiah stopped the small caravan before it got to the bend in the road.

Chris darted behind some rocks for cover and tried to help out Buck and the kid, who were pinned down by the gang. He and Josiah took aim and shot but they were under heavy fire and spent more time ducking bullets than firing their own guns. 

Chris heard a rifle report join the shooting and couldn’t help smiling; his back-up in place, he could raise his head with less of a chance getting it shot off. He kept calm, sighting his targets and getting off at least four or five shots before the shooting started tapering off. He gave Josiah a nod before taking a deep breath and diving out from behind his cover. He hit the ground rolling and got to his feet, running a pattern so he wouldn’t present too much of a target.

The members of the gang weren’t good shots, he could tell that much by the way none of their shots even came close to him, but the next sounds had his blood running cold. The rat-a-tat-tat of fully automatic weapons fire shattered the air and Chris searched for better cover. Shit, now they were well and truly outgunned. 

He dove into a small gully, not daring to raise his head as the machine-gun fire sprayed the ground above him. It went on for too long and he risked leaving his cover; someone had to take out the guy with the AK-47. As soon as he raised his head, bullets sprayed the area around him. Within seconds, though, a rifle report rang out from his left and the guy with the machine gun went down. He looked up, spotted Vin leaning out from a rocky outcrop high on the side of the hill behind him. They had their eye in the sky and he was a damn good shot. 

He gave a little wave to Vin and hoped like hell he’d know what he was saying. Chris darted out from the gully and headed into the action again. He only had one clip left, but he knew his little band gained the upper hand slowly but surely. The shots came slower now and he spotted bodies lying on the ground. None of his men, he was sure. He fired at a man sighting on Josiah, but he got his shot off too late and Josiah went down with a bullet in his leg. Nathan appeared and pulled Josiah back under cover so Chris pressed forward again.

He shot another one of the bikers, his shot ringing out in the sudden silence. After all the shooting, the silence was almost louder than the gun battle. He took his time checking the area before standing up to take control. It didn’t look like a single member of the gang still fought and the roar of motorcycles, heading back to the road, shattered the silence.

He couldn’t see Buck and the kid, but he took his time checking the bodies. He couldn’t risk leaving one live and armed behind him as he moved forward. 

“Go ahead,” Vin called out to him. “Anyone moves, they die.”

Chris raised a hand, signaling he’d heard and jogged off toward the next bend in the road. Buck and the kid were up ahead and he hoped they were both still standing. He hadn’t totally cleared the outcropping that forced the road to curve when he caught sight of them, the kid on the ground, flat on his back and Buck fighting one of the gang members. Chris raised his weapon, but he couldn’t shoot without hitting Buck. Sirens pierced the air, echoing through the rocks, but they wouldn’t get there in time to keep Buck from getting skewered.

He thought about shooting, hesitated again, and the knife wielding gang-member slashed out, catching Buck right across the chest. Damn! “Buck!” Chris yelled and Buck dropped to the ground, leaving Chris a clear shot. He fired and hit the guy dead center and he dropped like a stone.

Buck wasn’t moving though and Chris rushed forward.

The kid jumped to his feet, face white and shaking a little. “He saved my life,” the kid stammered at Chris and Chris wanted to shoot him too. Kid probably did something stupid. Buck was a professional. He wouldn’t have gotten that close to the guy without a good reason.

“Go wait for the cops,” Chris said to him, not bothering to hide his contempt. The kid jogged off up the road and Chris dropped to his knees next to Buck.

“Buck?”

“You sure do know how to ruin a man’s vacation,” Buck said, his normal good humor still in place. 

Blood poured from the side of his mouth and Chris hoped it was from the fistfight and not a sign Buck was bleeding internally. “Kid went to meet the good guys,” Chris said as he laid a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“I thought *we* were the good guys,” Buck said right before his eyes rolled back in his head.

Chris put pressure on the wound and hoped like hell those sirens got there a lot faster than they sounded like they were doing.

Finally, lights flashed from cars driving up the wash. Chris stood to meet them, bloody hands waving in the air. 

*****

Chris watched Vin, still no last name, pace from one end of the holding cell to the other. His face bruised, his knuckles scraped, Vin didn’t look like he fared too well at the hands of the locals who’d run them in. He watched him pace until he wanted to sit on him. “You mind sitting down?”

“So fucking stupid!” Tanner ground out, not for the first time and Chris tried to ignore his outburst. The two of them got separated at the scene and while Chris was in custody too, he didn’t fare badly. Buck and Josiah were taken to the hospital, along with Nathan and Raine, and the kid FBI agent disappeared after promising Chris things would be straightened out quick.

Vin, unfortunately, got mistaken for a member of the Bandidos and got a little roughed up when he supposedly resisted arrest.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chanted as he paced. The other occupants of the holding cell maintained a wide swath of empty space between themselves and the two men. 

Chris had no doubt things would get cleared up soon. He knew the drill well enough. Anyone without credentials and not an obvious civilian would get arrested; he and Vin fit the bill. With so many dead bodies, a shot up town and a firefight in the desert, with a cop hurt thrown in for shits and giggles, it could be some time before he and Vin got sprung. 

Vin paced back and forth and when one of the other occupants of the cell moved closer, Tanner growled at him. He actually *growled*-- low and deep in his throat, rumbling from his chest. The man backed off, arms raised and Tanner started pacing again.

“Soon as they run our prints, or that FBI kid, Buck or Josiah give a statement, we’ll be cut loose,” Chris said.

“You maybe.”

“Gas station you work at have video?” 

Vin stopped pacing and gave Chris a little nod.

“Might take some time, but we’ll be out of here as soon as they put the pieces together.”

Vin didn’t believe him, Chris could see that. Looks like someone didn’t have too much faith in law enforcement. Chris had no doubt they’d be let go without any charges filed. It might take some time for the wheels to turn, but turn they would. Tanner paced like a caged animal instead of a caged man and Chris didn’t try to stop him again. Would be a waste of time.

Chris studied Vin for a few minutes, calmly watched him grow more and more agitated. It was a complete change from who he’d been during the gun battle and it kind of intrigued Chris some. The mystery gave him something to do until he could leave or until he got word on Buck’s condition.

“Yer awful calm for someone about to be charged with murder,” Vin said as he came to a stop in front of Chris.

“Won’t happen,” Chris said with a shake of his head. 

Vin stared at him, trying to see if Chris really believed his own words and Chris motioned for Vin to have a seat on the end of the bench.

“We never had a proper introduction,” Chris said, arm extended. “Chris Larabee.”

Vin’s eyes went wide and Chris couldn’t help smiling.

“Outta Denver?”

Chris gave him a nod and waited for Vin to say whatever he was going to. 

“No wonder you ain’t worried. I’m surprised you’re in here with us lowlifes at all.”

Chris ignored the lowlifes remark. “And you are?” he asked instead.

“Vin Tanner,” Vin said, arm extended. 

Chris shook his hand and gave him a nod. 

“I make a living doing freelance bounty work. Heard of you when I did some work outta Denver a year or so back.”

Chris nodded to him and calmly waited him out. At least he wasn’t pacing any more. Vin sat perched on the edge of the bunk, staring off into the distance, eyes focused on nothing and mind clearly somewhere else, head turned so Chris could only see his profile.

“Don’t do so good locked up,” Tanner said, shrugging. “Got framed fer killin someone a few years back. Did two years hard time, even got threatened with the chair before DNA cleared me.”

Chris sneaked a glance at Tanner’s face and saw something he didn’t think anyone else in that cell saw. Fear snuck through his hard edge and Chris wanted to tell him it would be all right, that it wouldn’t happen again. Evidence would clear them, and if that wasn’t enough, witness statements would. But someone who’d already done time for something he didn’t do wouldn’t be in any kind of frame of mind to listen. Chris nodded to him, letting him know he heard him and understood.

Tanner locked eyes with him, then looked away again. “I shoulda cleared outta there as soon as I heard them sirens. Shoulda known they’d take one look at me and decide I was one of the bad guys. Could be long gone by now. No way them deputies woulda ever found me in the desert.”

Chris kept his tone even, his voice low and his words matter of fact. “We‘ll be out soon enough.”

Tanner turned his head so he could look him in the eye again. Neither of them said a word for a long moment and finally, Tanner nodded to him. 

“I trust you.” Chris could hear the words even though they weren’t spoken. They went silent again, Tanner sitting still and breathing so softly, Chris could detect no movement out of him. It was better than the pacing and mumbling.

“Excuse me.”

Chris glanced across the cell to where the other four occupants played a hand of cards. One of them stood to come over to them and Chris shifted so he faced forward, almost blocking Tanner from the stranger’s view. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he wanted to keep Vin away from the other prisoners. For Vin’s sake and the other prisoners’ benefit.

Chris looked the man up and down, not particularly impressed with him. Probably in for drunk driving or some other nonsense. He looked out of place in the cell, immaculate and wearing clothes that made a statement. One that said money, breeding and class. But his rich ass was locked up same as the rest of them. Chris tilted his head to the side, but didn’t bother with words.

“I heard of your incident in the desert,” the guy said and moved closer. 

A low growl came from behind him and Chris stood to meet the guy. Tanner wasn’t going to let anyone in that cell but Chris get within ten feet of him. If he’d done hard time, he knew better than most what could happen if you let someone close enough to touch. Chris took a couple steps forward, to get them both away from Tanner. He didn’t have much use for this stranger, but he didn’t need a fight getting them separated or even charged with something that might stick.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, Mr. Larabee. I know of a good attorney if you need one.” The man extended his hand, holding something and Chris was a little too surprised not to reach out automatically and take it from him. He turned around and went back to the little group he held enthralled and Chris sat back down on the cot he and Vin staked out.

Chris turned over the business card and had to keep from swinging his head up and staring at the guy who gave him the card when he read the numbers on the back. 1186. In his head, he supplied the dash between the 11 and the 86. 11-86 meant special detail in the universal radio codes used by all officers. Under it, underlined, was the code 11-99 -- officer needs help.

Chris didn’t look to the other side of the cell again. Whatever the other cop was up to, he obviously didn’t want it known until he could get out of that cell. Another mystery to go along with all the others he’d run into so far this day. Funny how he kept getting dragged deeper and deeper into all these people’s lives. And not funny in an amusing way, either.

Tanner stood up and started pacing again and all Chris wanted was for someone to come and let him out of that cell so he could start getting the mess untangled and get back to his own business.

Within a minute of Tanner taking up his pacing again, one of the card players stood to his full height and approached him. Chris knew where this was headed before the guy even reached out to grab Tanner by the shoulder.

Lightening-quick, Vin dropped into a crouch and spun, kicking out and dropping the man about to grab him. Chris gave him space, but two of the other card players tried to join the fracas. Chris jumped in, ready to keep them from ganging up on Tanner. He expected the other cop to help them out, but he realized he fought two men all on his own about the same time he spied the undercover cop standing in the corner- watching-- not helping.

The fighting quickly became a free-for-all with he and Tanner back-to-back, fighting off the other three men. The undercover guy never tried to help them, evening out the fight, and Chris’ instincts took over and he forgot about him for the time being. 

It went on longer than he thought it should, them being in a jail cell and all, and by the time the guards fought their way into the cell, Chris and Tanner had fought off the other men. Guards in riot gear rushed the cell and Chris dropped to his knees, arms raised. He knew the drill well enough and he knew if he didn’t fight them, it would get straightened out soon enough. 

Tanner continued to fight though and Chris couldn’t help wincing when Vin took a baton to the back of his skull, knocking him to his knees. He still fought and one of the deputies jumped on him while the others hogtied him. All the fight went out of him then and Chris tried to tell the deputies that Vin wasn’t the bad guy here, but they weren’t ready to hear anything from him.

Instead, Chris got dragged out of the cell too, and thrown into a small holding room. He wasn’t handcuffed or restrained in any way, but the room was secure and he settled in to wait. No telling what would happen now, but he was confident everything would be straightened out in his favor. He had intimate knowledge of how police departments worked. And how slowly the wheels of justice sometimes turned. If Tanner could keep himself out of the hospital for a few more hours, Chris was sure everything would be fine. But then what?

*****

Chris sat in the small interview room alone for a couple of hours, at least. He didn’t know how long it actually was, since there was no clock on the wall, but he knew it had to be hours. Felt like days though. His nose bled freely for some time and he could feel his face starting to swell where he took a couple of good shots. He’d settled in on the floor for a long wait, knowing no one at the sheriff’s department would be too anxious to give him any kind of assistance. 

He let his mind drift, thinking about Buck, hoping he was all right, wondering why fate seemed to draw together a group of men at the right time to make a difference to Nathan Jackson’s family. Just as he decided he’d about had enough tolerance for the situation and he was about to start raising a stink, the door to his holding cell opened unexpectedly.

“Chris Larabee.” 

The man standing in the doorway said his name as a statement, not a question. He looked about as happy as Chris felt. Chris studied him, deciding friend or foe, not making a move to acknowledge him. Old guy, solidly built, an air of authority and used to being listened to-- that was Chris’ assessment.

“Orin Travis,” the man said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Chris recognized the name, but didn’t show it. Former federal court judge, now retired from the bench. Chris remained seating, leaning against the wall. He’d been expecting the sheriff, or maybe someone from the state patrol, definitely not a retired judge.

“When will I be released?” Chris asked.

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Travis said as he took a seat at the table. He nodded to the other chair and Chris hesitated a minute before getting up and joining him at the table. 

Chris sat studying him, waiting for his answer, or for some other explanation. The guy stared at him, a hard look in his eye Chris couldn’t place. The man was pissed, but Chris couldn’t figure out if it was at him or not. He didn’t really care if it was. He hadn’t done anything wrong, not even in the jail. He fought in self-defense and he didn’t fight the deputies. Tanner, however… He could be looking at an assaulting an officer charge, if the department decided to be hardasses and ignore the little extra beating they gave Vin before they realized he wasn't one of the biker gang.

“I’ve watched the surveillance tapes from the gas station,” Travis said after the silence between them went on for some time.

Chris raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. More silence from Travis and Chris asked the question that had been on his mind since he got locked up. “Buck Wilmington and Josiah. Are they all right?”

“Captain Wilmington and Josiah Sanchez will both be released from the hospital tomorrow morning. The only other person hurt was a Mr. Johnson-- Mr. Jackson’s father-in-law. Unfortunately, he died on the operating table a few hours ago.”

Chris didn’t react to the news. While he felt badly for Nathan’s family, he didn’t see what the news had to do with him, or with the judge being there.

“Can I call you Chris?”

Chris nodded.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Chris nodded again. He’d listen, but that’s about all he planned on doing.

“I’m about to be named director of the ATF.”

Chris didn’t react. Politics didn’t concern him. Neither did federal agencies.

“I watched the tapes of the incident more than once. Then I investigated each of you involved. You, former head of Denver SWAT. Retired Navy Seal. Wilmington, current head of Albuquerque SWAT, also retired Navy Seal. Nathan Jackson: paramedic, paratrooper. Josiah Sanchez: former helicopter pilot. Retired Green Beret. Doctor of Philosophy. Currently, involved in something he considers penance, ministering to a neighborhood bereft of hope. John, or JD Dunne, just graduated from Quantico, scheduled to be assigned to Counter Terrorism. Specialty, electronic surveillance. And Vin Tanner. Former Army Ranger. Served two years in a Texas Supermax for a crime he didn‘t commit. Currently working as a freelance bounty hunter.”

Travis stared at Chris waiting for a reaction. Chris didn’t give him one, even though he was feeling a little smug. Seems he had them all pegged dead on. 

“That was quiet a serendipitous meeting the six of you had in the middle of nowhere. Mr. Sanchez told me it was the hand of fate, swooping down from above to provide salvation to Mr. Jackson’s family. I don’t feel quite so metaphysical about the situation. Do you?”

Chris didn’t answer. He had an idea where this was headed and he wanted no part of it.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now what I want.”

“Why don’t you spell it out.”

“All right. I’m forming special tactical teams. I want you to head one. I also want the men you worked with today. You’re a natural team. I watched the tape over and over again, then read the witness statements until I memorized them.”

“No.”

“That’s it? No? Unacceptable, Chris.”

Chris felt his eyebrow quirk, and he fought back a sneer. “Unacceptable?”

“You could be in a world of trouble for the little vigilante act you put on today.”

Chris let out the smallest of sighs. “So put me on trial.”

Travis stared at him and Chris stared back. He wasn’t about to be blackmailed into taking a job he didn’t want.

“You probably won’t be convicted. You have a solid reputation and the surveillance tapes back your story. Tanner, however, will most likely be convicted of assault for the fight in the holding cells. He did assault officers of the court.”

Chris didn’t react. He’d only met Tanner that morning. He didn’t owe him anything. But it was beginning to rankle that this pompous old fart thought he could force him into this, using these tactics.

“Wilmington could lose his job and his pension over this stunt.”

He wouldn’t be blackmailed into this job. Not by Travis, not by anyone.

“Larabee, I need a good western division tactical team. I think I’ve found it.”

Chris allowed his expression to harden into what he knew was his most effective 'don't fuck with me' glare. "One more attempt to use extortion on me or any of the others, and you'll be looking at me through the wrong side of cell bars. You think you've got connections? Well, so do I. And don't think I won't use 'em. Difference is, my charges will be legit."

Travis sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "It is rather distasteful, isn't it," he said, then inexplicably, the old bastard smiled a little, and damned if it didn't look to be in relief. "Believe it or not, your reaction to that type of strategy just makes me more certain than ever that you'd be perfect for one of my tactical teams. A sense of justice to go with your skills. A rare combination, really."

Chris relaxed marginally, but not enough for the old coot to notice. “I’ve had enough of bureaucracy to last a lifetime. Answer’s still no.”

Travis sat back, and Chris just knew that he had something else up his sleeve. “Chris, did you know the ATF is responsible for arson investigations?”

He should have known where Travis was headed. Hell of a carrot the man dangled, but the answer was still no. He conveyed that by continuing to stare. 

Travis shook his head. "Obviously, I can't force you. But I can tell you that the way things are changing in this world, you are needed. Like it or not, someone like you can make a real difference. You proved that today, and so did your men. I've never seen a team naturally gel that way, and accomplish what you did. With the right resources, can you imagine what you and your men could do? Can you at least try to imagine it?"

Chris closed his eyes and ran his hand over the back of his head. He didn't particularly want to imagine it. But Travis' mention of resources again had him thinking about the other carrot. Could he afford to turn that down? Was it worth being out from under bureaucracy if the price was information about his family?

"I can't promise anything, and I won't. But I'll give it some thought," he found himself saying, knowing it was the first time he'd let his voice waver even a little. But even a little felt like too much.

The judge gave him a nod, then stood to leave. “Someone will release you shortly. You’re being released on your own recognizance. Don’t miss your court date or you will go to prison, and that's not a threat-- just common sense.”

“Judge, wait.”

Travis stopped but didn’t turn around.

“You’ve got a cop in one of the cells and he gave me a 911. About 5‘7“, dressed nice, reddish brown hair. Didn‘t get a name.”

“Noted,” Travis said before he walked out and shut the door behind him.

Chris sat for another hour in the interview room, sure he was being watched. Pissed him off more than he’d like, too. Finally, a deputy came in with an envelope, his things, Chris knew, and gave him some paperwork to sign. He didn’t have anywhere to go and decided on visiting Buck in the hospital.

The hospital was up in Albuquerque and it took him more than an hour to get there. 

He was working his way down the hall, checking the room numbers for Buck's, when he heard a curse in a voice that had already become familiar. He popped his head into the room the sound came from, and spotted Vin-- pacing from one side to the other, shirt off, wearing the bottoms of a set of scrubs, and various bruises along his torso to go with the matching shiner over one eye and bandage over one cheek. The pacing was as familiar as the voice, though it seemed strange to see him right here at the hospital. Chris was damned confused.

"Vin? How long you been here?" he asked, stepping into the room with caution.

"A few hours, now. Damn fools won't let me leave!"

"Whoa now, take it easy. Why don't you have a guard out here?" Chris shook his head, boggled.

Vin stopped mid-pace and gave him a puzzled frown. "Why would I have a guard? That kid playing Fed finally made himself useful, and Travis done freed me up from that mess. All I got to do is show up for the court date to give official testimony."

Chris found himself speechless. That old son-of-a-bitch. While Chris was relieved that Travis apparently wouldn't resort to actual extortion, he was irritated that the old goat had taken a shot at the pretense. "Same here. So why can't you leave?" he finally said.

Vin let out a long, exasperated sigh and took a seat at the edge of his bed. "They need to get some papers to me to sign, so's I won't sue the department for my injuries while in custody. Damn pencil-pushers don't have no-one after hours to get 'em here. So they admitted me to the damn hospital for observation overnight."

Chris couldn't help the grin that pulled at his mouth. "I'm thinking the staff here needs to be careful, or you'll give 'em something to observe."

Vin surprised him with a sudden grin of his own. "If I don't watch this temper, I might at that. So what're you doin' here?"

"Buck's admitted on this floor. I had no idea you'd be here."

Vin shrugged, then, and looked at the floor for a second before meeting his eyes again. "Hell, it's not like I got any place to be, really, and they still got my bike locked up at the impound."

Chris nodded, realizing that his own wait at the station had probably been Travis getting his truck released. Vin'd gotten medical attention soon enough, with the trade-off of not getting his bike back yet. "Tell you what. If you can wait it out till morning when they get those papers to ya, I'll give you a ride back to get your bike."

Vin looked surprised at the offer, but not inclined to turn it down. "I think I can manage that."

Chris nodded. He was glad for it. It'd give him a chance to talk to Vin, if he decided that the talk was needed. He still wasn't sure himself. "See you in the morning, then."

"In the morning."

As he walked out, Chris turned one last time, as Vin swung his legs up on the bed, settling down on top of the covers. Chris didn't blame him; he'd never be able to relax under them, either, with an open door in a public place like this. Habit, he figured, the instinct to be in a position to get the hell out fast, if need be.

He found Buck’s room easy enough and stepped in to find his old friend sound asleep. Chris took his time studying him; he hadn’t had a chance earlier with things moving so fast. He looked good, no older than when Chris last saw him and he was completely relaxed in sleep. Chris quietly sat in the chair next to the bed. He sat thinking about the judge’s job offer and decided he’d see what the other people involved had to say about it before he completely made up his mind. Not that he was caving in, he told himself.

A nurse slipped into the room to check Buck’s vitals and Buck slowly woke. He didn’t notice Chris until the nurse left, but once he saw him, a wide grin took up his whole face.

“Chris,” Buck said and Chris couldn’t figure out why Wilmington was so happy to see him.

“Buck,” Chris said with a nod.

“Just like old times, hey, pard?”

Chris gave him a small nod, watching as he started climbing out of bed.

“You supposed to be up?”

“Gotta piss and the docs said they’re only keeping me here because I’m a coupla pints low.”

He moved all right, Chris was glad to see. His chest was bare and like Vin, he only wore the pants from a set of scrubs. A large, too white bandage crossed his chest. It didn’t take him long in the bathroom and Chris got to his feet while Buck was in there. He’d only come to see with his own eyes Buck was all right.

“That was quite a time today, huh?” Buck asked, still grinning when he came out of the bathroom. He didn’t go back to bed though, instead coming right up to Chris and wrapping him in a hug. 

Chris tried to struggle free, but Buck wasn’t having it. “People will talk," he finally said, appealing to Buck’s vanity about his reputation so he’d release him.

“Like I care what people say!” Buck said with a laugh. “Hot damn, it’s good to see you, you old dog!”

It was good to see Buck too. “We need to talk,” he said as Buck settled back into the bed.

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time he left Buck’s room and stopped in to visit Josiah Sanchez to offer him a job. He’d leave Nathan for the morning, and have that talk with Vin on the drive back to the station. He had a feeling Vin would say yes; it was a niggling feeling, something about the way Vin'd said he didn't really have anyplace to be tonight anyway. Against his better judgment, Chris was about to tie himself down, giving all of them someplace to be. He tried to tell himself he was taking the job because he was ready for it and he was needed there, but he knew, deep down, he was taking it to bring the full resources of the federal government into the hunt that obsessed him. 

*****


End file.
